Page 60 of Celestial Combat

“A little.”

He huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I don’t make you sit at the bar alone.”

I finally let my grin slip. “You wouldn’t.”

His smirk widened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he tapped the menu in my hands, pulling it down just enough to meet my gaze. “What do you want?”

I hesitated, flicking my eyes to the menu again.

“Don’t know?”

“I know.”

Zane tilted his head, waiting.

I exhaled and set the menu down. “Tonkotsu ramen. And yakitori.”

He nodded once, then – without even glancing at the menu – looked at the approaching waiter. “Two tonkotsu ramen. Yakitori. Sashimi platter. And tea.”

The waiter bowed. Zane lowered his chin too in respect, and handed him the menus before settling against the wall with an ease that almost looked natural.

I raised a brow as the waiter left us alone. “Ordering for me now?”

He met my gaze, calm and steady. “You were thinking too hard.”

I scoffed. “I wasn’t–”

“You were,” He said, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back the smallest smirk. “Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “You always this considerate?”

Zane exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head. “Depends who’s asking.”

I held his gaze, something unspoken stretching between us before I finally sighed and leaned back on my hands. The warmth of the restaurant wrapped around me.

We weren’t exactly friendly. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like we were at odds.

An hour of surprisingly good conversation later, the restaurant had emptied out a little, the late-night crowd dwindling as the hour stretched on.

Zane and I had managed to have a real conversation. It was strange how natural it felt.

I was about to make a joke about how absurd it was that he was actually tolerable company – when a soft shuffle of fabric caught my attention.

An elderly Japanese man, dressed in a dark indigo kimono with delicate golden embroidery, approached our table. His face was lined with age, wisdom, and something warm. He held a small lacquered box in his hands, the deep red wood glinting under the soft lantern light.

I sat up slightly, watching as he inclined his head toward us.

“A good night, isn’t it?” He asked in Japanese, voice deep yet kind.

Zane nodded respectfully, responding in flawless Japanese. “Yes, it is. Can we help you with something?”

I turned my head toward Zane, unable to hide my surprise. I knew he spoke Japanese, but hearing it roll so naturally off his tongue was… Unexpected.

The elder smiled knowingly, setting the small wooden box down in front of us. “I am a fortune teller,” he explained. His dark eyes twinkled with something unreadable. “Shall I read your fortunes?”

I fully expected Zane to decline. Hell, I was already preparing an excuse to politely refuse.

“Please do,” Zane said smoothly.

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